


Tell me why my gods look like you

by demonn



Series: Let’s give this love a new name [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse of italics, Barely any Tony in this, Inspired by 1950 by king princess, Issa bit rushed, M/M, Mentions of Underage Prostitution, Mentions of past James Barnes/OMC, Ok angst incoming, Some mature content, hes only mentioned - Freeform, its set in a park by the way just wanted you to know, ive finally finished it, just a little fluff, the green haired god thing again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonn/pseuds/demonn
Summary: It was late at night when James first met him.





	Tell me why my gods look like you

**Author's Note:**

> I’m really fucking sleep deprived and surviving off of cake, iced cream coffee and Estes so this may seem a little loopy or confusing.
> 
> Ahhhh, uuurrrrggghhh I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️

It was late at night when James first met him, too dark for it to be anything but midnight.

The green haired man had sat next to him on the bench, eyes glowing gently as he smirked at James, the golden rings boring holes into his should.

He wanted to say something, wanted to form something, anything, that could show just how much he was feeling. The rustling leather of the mans jacket tore him away from his thoughts. It was hard, to look at this man for too long. It was like he was glowing, something too otherworldly to be something anyone could lay their eyes on for too long. Like Tony, when his anger rushed n his skin, like pepper, when you could see the fire in her eyes, like these young gods roaming the earth, knives in hand.

“You think too much,” the man said, taking a puff of his cigarette. “Too long as well, I can feel it. Your mind is chaos man.”

“I didn’t ask for you to take a look in it,” James ground out, throwing away his empty coffee cup with more vigour than necessary.

“Well I am, not intentionally. You’re just so _interesting_ , and stop looking so worried, no ones looking.” He laughed, sharp and mirthful, gesturing around them with a flick of a pale hand. The way he moved, so careless, so freely, like he was slicing through air.It unnerved him, worried him to no end. This man that he had become so attached to despite everything, this man who he had known (even as a spectator) for the better part of a year, moved like he owned the wind. For what it was worth, he probably did. Had claimed the caress of the breeze using his clear, accented voice as his only weapon.

James looked up, finally, noticing that the sales individuals in the park had been suspended in time. Even the birds and breeze, the swoosh of the trees. It had all stopped. James suspected the rest of New York had stopped as well. Stopped just enough that they could have this conversation without the added background noise of the city that never slept.

“You’re really having fun doing this to people? Aren’t you?”

“What? You mean the dealer selling drugs too little boys and girls is a person? You mean the couple luring people in and stealing from them are people? You mean the guys over there with the woman impersonating cruelly de vil, the guys who run a massive underground dog fighting ring are people? Hardly. They are as human as I am.” He laughed again, sharper than last time, showcasing just how little he thought of all these people.

“Everyone’s human in a way. You and I have blood flowing through our veins, right? Have fully comprehensible minds and opposable thumbs and thought to think? Things too do?” James leaned back. “That makes us human. They are human even if they lack humanity.”

“Your thoughts on what makes a human are interesting, Mr. Barnes, so different to what other have had to say.” The man copied his movements, the acid green of his hair shifting and morphing until it was a tangled, maroon mess.

“What, people think different?” James pressed, even if he knew he was correct. Of course people thought different, they were human, they were made to challenge and discuss and tear apart methodically and eat the information they wanted, discarding what they didn’t need.

“Someone once told me anything is human! I didn’t personally believe it, but I could see where they were coming from.” “It’s strange when I say that out loud.”

“Whatever you say is strange and I can say that after knowing you for only about 5 minutes.” James smiled, slow and sweet, as the gears in his metal arm flexed.

“You’ve known me for much longer, Barnes, you and I both know that.” The man smiled solemnly, scuffing the heels of his trainers on the grass as his hair turned into an inky black colour, his features become sharper, more angular.

“But back then, yesterday, the day before, months ago, you were just lurking on the edges of my life. Just watching in on me from the outside, a spectator in my life.”

“But aren’t I much more than that? The guy that served you coffee, the lady that sold you those flowers, the beggar on the street.” His features seemed to morph until he had the freckles of the man, the wide eyes off the woman.

“You were all those people?”

“I was in all those people. _God_ , I just wanted to grant some of their wishes, ya know? But I can’t, not like this anyway. I’ve sacrificed a lot for you, Barney-boy, I wasn’t going to just sit back and watch you fail. Besides, it’s fun to shift occasionally, I only do my hair most of the time. The only time I ever really shifted was at the bar.”

“You’ve been there?” James said, picking up on that particular life of the conversation.

“Since the moment you were born. Since the first breath you took, since that first moment you kissed a boy and you realised you could never love like this. Since the first time a bit called your pretty. He meant it, ya know.”

“He did?” The first boy he had kissed was a tornado of black hair and green eyes, too sharp, too rough, for a 16 year old like him. But he was grateful, so fucking grateful, to be able to hold someone and kiss them without feeling like he was tearing off a part of himself and feeding it to the devil. And when he had called him pretty, god, when he called him pretty! In that country boy, farm twang of his, eyes half lidded and his hands still roaming over him. Bucky (because back then, he was still Bucky) had just about melted into his arms.

And they’d lay, under the stars, too caught up in the feeling of their hands in each other’s body, too caught up in the feeling of loving for the first time. It was a heady feeling, that one, loving behind closed doors, knowing that they would be waiting for each other. Too nice a feeling for too young, anxious boys like them too understand. Two boys who swayed to the beat of songs that didn’t exist. Two boys who just wanted to love and be loved but were too this or too that or too young to even consider the concept, two boys who had just been introduced to this world where you could love another person freely. Two boys desperate to belong to each other. (Even if it wasn’t belonging, even when he came home smelling like another man. Even when he didn’t really belong to him.:

“He always had.” Artie Sommers had always called him a _pretty_ _boy_ , too caught up in how he looked to be free. But back then it wasn’t about how you looked, it was about making money. And if he made a little extra money spending time with guys that were firmly in the closet (because you had to be, if you wanted to stay alive) and looking to spend time with a willing, young boy, who was he to protest? Not when his mother looked soo tired, and his father was away most of the time. Not when his sisters still looked to him for advice and stories and cuddle.

(it was always easier to pretend that it was Artie’s hands anyways, not some strange man. Always easier to pretend it was him calling him pretty, calling him beautiful, making him cry. It was always easier, even if he never really believed it.)

“You we’re interesting to look in on, tragic as well.”

“You think my life was a fucking joke?”

“No, _never_. Just tragedy. But in the end, not quite. You fell in love, you found yourself, you became better.” He smiled wistfully, his eyes clearing until they became almost the same shade as the fog that seemed to drift around them. Hazy, in just the right shade of moonlight.

“But at what cost?” James shifted, feeling the press of his phone in his pocket. It had all cost so much, to be there, sitting in a park with a god ( _maybe_ , just maybe) sitting next to him. Was it really worth it, when he could have lived and died like everyone else did.

“None at all, when you think about it. Everthing you lost was repaid twofold, except your relationship with one Steve Rogers, of course.” The man turned towards him, giving him a clear view of his scarred collarbone. “You feel bad about loosing him, don’t you.”

“I don’t think I could have kept him, anyways. Not with the way things turned out. I don’t regret it, we’re different people now.” It was true, they were different, too different. He was sure that if he had met Steve in the street the way the were now, with no previous history, they would hate each other. But life didn’t work like that, and Steve and him did have history. History they couldn’t avoid, no matter how hard they tried to shake it off.

“I know you are. I’m sorry for not doing more. The train, Hydra. That’s on me, I couldn’t save you from that,” the man said softly, a single tear dripping down his face.

“You didn’t have to save me from that, not when it led to all this. I love being here, being James Barnes, white wolf, a friends, a lover, a person you can count on.”

“You were all that before.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“No you weren’t,” the man admitted, too caught in the sight of the stars to face him.

“You still dreaming of that white picket fence? Better change your plans buddy, you’ve got something better coming your way. Something your small mind never thought of.” He was still dreaming of that white picket fence, of that all American life and those two kids and that dog. He was still dreaming of waking up to Tony kissing him or the sound of little feet in floors. He was still dreaming of a life where he got to be normal.

“Eternal bliss?”

“Better. _Eternal_ love.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “that is better. Way better.”

“Tony Stark is better than any picket fence this earth could produce, better than any man who has ever laid their hands on you.”

“I know, I’ve known for sometime.”

“I know that you know. Just settling whatever doubts you have.”

“I’m meant to trust you aren’t I? You’re like my angel thing, whatever. My guardian. The spirit that’s been there since I was born. Before that maybe.” James turned to face him, hooking his pinky finger on one of the rings hanging off his jacket.

“You don’t have to trust me if you don’t want to.” The man shrugged, the buckles on him clinking.

“I want to. I want to know I can trust people, that I don’t have to do this alone.”

“You’ve never had to do this alone. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to do it alone. That wasn’t my intention. You know, when you were locked up and forced to become the solider, I could feel you changing, could feel you splintering. Screaming, always screaming. Over and over again ‘I don’t trust you, I don’t trust you’-“ he shivered, inching away from him. “Like you could see me, feel me. Hand wrapped in the air like you could _choke_ me. I realised, you never had to trust me, never had to have a reason to trust me. You just had to see me, remember that I was there when you needed me.”

James released a breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding. It came as a shock to him, really, that the man had admitted that James didn’t have to trust him. Just had to see him, just had to know he was there. It was comforting all the same. Trust was hard, it was a thing he didn’t always have, something he didn’t think was necessary. The less people you trust, the less people you _hurt_ and the less people that hurt you, right?

(No, _wrong_. _Wrong_ , _wrong_ , _wrong_ , _wrong_ , _wrong_.)

“I needed you,” he admitted, voice choked and rough. “I needed someone familiar in all those bad days.”

“Bad days, huh? Is that what we’re calling them?” He tried for a weak laugh. “I was there, even if you can’t remember me. I was there, watching over you, even if I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“I know you couldn’t keep me safe, not from hydra at least.”

“It would change everything, would change what you have now and I couldn’t risk it, not after getting a glimpse of what you could have and I just- I watched and I waited and I saw it all. Every single second of those 70 years I was there.”

“Even if I didn’t know it?”

“Even if you didn’t know it.” He concluded, voice painfully final. This man, who you couldn’t put a face to name (because he had no consistent one) was there with him for what was the worst years of his life, and was probably traumatised by it as well. But he had stayed there and got him through it and made sure he survived so he could have some good in his life. It was admirable, something to hold onto, something to remember when times got bad.

“I hope your happy with me,” James said, coughing slightly. “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve made. I’m all messed up and some days I can’t focus or do anything in fear that I’ll create violence. But you can count on the fact that I’ll be waiting, for whatever you want. For your love, for hope, for whatever. I’ll be waiting. But I hope your happy with me, happy with the person I am.”

“Oh, baby, don’t you know it,” he said, a smile on his face as he got up. “Oh, and before I forget, call me Vision. Something to look forward to.”

Vision, yeah, that seemed just about right.

(And as the man walked away and the world snapped back to life, something inside him sung. Something inside him sang for him. Just under the barrier of his mind. ‘ _I’ll wait it for you’_ it sang, voice light. ‘ _For however long you need me to.’)_


End file.
